


“—and that’s why the Black Widow totally kicks ass.”

by Sa_kun



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sa_kun/pseuds/Sa_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Bradbury helps Dean out with a pesky little problem he has (some angel dude or whatever is missing or something; <i>whatever</i>). Because she's <i>awesome</i>, she totally gets it done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“—and that’s why the Black Widow totally kicks ass.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cordelia_gray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordelia_gray/gifts).



> Warnings: Language? Might be some minute spoilers in passing for _Avengers_ and _Moulin Rouge_ , along with some sort-of-spoilers for _Supernatural_ (as in: you won’t know they’re spoilers unless you’ve seen either the episodes or the films in question). AU, probably, though it could take place at any point between episodes S07E20 and S07E23. The flimsy plot in this fic centres on Dean commissioning Charlie to locate Castiel for him. Make of that what you will. Written for the 2012 [](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/profile)[**spnspringfling**](http://spnspringfling.livejournal.com/) for the prompts "Charlie and... anyone, really" and "I guess they won't exchange the gifts that you were meant to keep" by [](http://cordelia-gray.livejournal.com/profile)[**cordelia_gray**](http://cordelia-gray.livejournal.com/).

**&black widow**

“I guess they won't exchange the gifts that you were meant to keep,” she says to the tiny action figure next to her computer. The head of it bobs, as if to agree, and Charlie grins. “See? I knew you’d agree with me, H.” She turns to Dean, then, eyes narrowed and chin raised. “And you! I told you to stay away!” 

Dean’s grin is lascivious and flirty, complete with hard eyes and jagged edges. It makes her shudder, a little, how much he’s changed since the last time they met. How different the Winchesters are from most people she’s ever met, in fact. “Sorry, princess,” Dean’s saying. “Look, can you find him or not?” 

Affronted, Charlie huffs. “I can find anything. Anyone. With the proper _tools_. Which you didn’t provide me with. And this takes time, too; it’s not like I can just wave a magic wand or something and whatever I’m looking for’ll just fall into my lap, you know.” She cocks her head, considering, aware that she’s ranting but preoccupied by that stray thought. “Though that would be so cool. I totally I need a wand,” she tells the little Hermione. “It’d match yours, of course.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, then he gets off the motel bed. It’s really unfair, Charlie thinks, that Dean gets to be all flowing moves and muscles and so freaking smooth when she’s still awkward and kind of jumpy. He settles on the desk next to her, fiddling with his bracelet. “Look, Charlie… I don’t know what else I can do, all right? Dude’s an angel. Not like I can keep tabs on him if he don’t want me to.” 

“But you want _me_ to do it,” Charlie points out, and she sounds only a little smug. Hey! It’s justified, all right? She’s awesome, after all. Totally worthy of owning a wand and be allowed to be as smug as she pleases. 

Dean grins again. “Yeah, ‘cause you can do anything, sweetheart.” 

“Please.” Charlie rolls her eyes, but she’s preening a little at the praise. “And I’m not your sweetheart. In fact, I’m so out of your league that—” 

Dean laughs, then taps on the screen with a finger. “Focus, Charlie.” 

“Right, right.” She’s quiet for a while after that, focused on her task, sifting through worldwide security footage and less-than-credible news sites. Charlie mostly forgets about Dean, even though he’s sitting on the desk right where she’s working. It’s not until she catches herself humming along to something that’s suspiciously like the theme of Dr. Sexy M.D. to the rhythm of Dean’s tapping fingers on the desk along with his boots kicking against the cabinet under the desk that she remembers she’s not alone. 

Also: she totally doesn’t watch that show, like, ever (honestly!). 

“Hey,” Charlie says. 

“You found him?” 

“No, wait. No. Angels are real?” 

Dean snorts, sounding very little amused and a whole lot of tired. “Yeah. Kinda the first question most people ask.” 

“Oh.” Charlie clears her throat, cracks her fingers. “Well, I’m asking now, and you know I’m not like most people. Actually, one of my favourite books from when I was little had people with wings in them – they weren’t angels, _obviously_ – and I—” 

“Angels aren’t people with wings,” Dean interrupts. 

Charlie pouts. “Damn. That would be so sexy.” 

“Sexy?” 

Charlie nods. “Oh, yeah. Just— Imagine this: like, big wings, stuck to your shoulders. Has to take a lot of muscles keeping them up in flight, right? And just walking with them, they’d be _so_ heavy. Anyway, I think that’d be, like, really sexy. For real. With the muscles and all.” 

Dean smirks. “Maybe,” he says, and he sounds like he’s at least considering it, if not outright creating nice, super-hot mental pictures of his own to go along with Charlie’s description (Charlie totally is). 

“Like a swimmer,” Charlie muses, mostly to herself. “Swimmers are totally sexy.” Or like, say, Scarlett Johansson. Charlie smiles to herself. Or, maybe Sigourney Weaver, sweaty and pumped in Alien… Then she forcibly shakes her head, snapping out of her daydreams. 

Dean hums a little, then kind of says, kind of muses, “I boned an angel, once.” 

“Okay.” She draws out the word and raises her eyebrows. “The one I’m looking for?” 

“Cas is a dude,” Dean drawls. 

“So?” 

“And I’m straight?” 

Charlie chuckles, mostly to herself, as she types her way through the program she’s writing up (or, well, modifying, because it’s not technically the first time she’s had to stalk someone through surveillance cameras; she’s just never done it on an international scope before, that’s all – and, _no_ , she’s not a pervert, all right? There were totally legitimate reasons!). “I always say: try everything once. Right, H?” 

“So you’d do it with a guy?” Dean asks, sounding a little amused and maybe even a little flirty; she wouldn’t know. “Just once? To try?” 

Charlie scrunches her nose up. “Oh, ew. Oh, god, no! Ew! Penis overload! I need to bleach my brain—” Her fingers almost dance across the keyboard as she changes track, moving from code to browser in a flash. The laptop is her trusted friend; it’s never failed her yet (unlike the bastard Dean, who is laughing at her) and it’s totally penis free (well, except maybe for that one time when she let Betty from Comic Con loose on it and she tried to sell Charlie on the whole guy on guy thing, but that’s really besides the point). The point is that Scarlett Johansson should totally play the Black Widow in, like, at least seventeen three hour movies. At least. That clip where she kicks ass and totally owns the screen? It’s golden. 

“Good choice,” Dean agrees, smirking again. He’s squinting a little at the screen, but most of his attention is on the clip and not the rest of the page. “What movie is that?” 

“Uh, the Avengers?” Charlie says, the ‘duh’ in her voice so obvious it’s like a _Stormtrooper_ at a chess tournament. 

Dean raises his eyebrows and purses his lips a little, looking intrigued. “They finally made the movie, huh?” 

“Uh, yeah!” Charlie sits a little straighter, chin raised and eyes sparkling. “I’ve already seen it, like, four times— shut up; it premiered, like, a _month_ ago! It’s totally awesome and—” 

“—and now you know where Cas is?” Dean finishes for her, voice dry, a single eyebrow arched so perfectly she almost wants to snatch it off him. 

Charlie blinks. “Uh, right… Look, after I’m done with this we’re gonna catch it at the movies, all right? You’re not allowed to say no, because the movie is that epic; trust me. You’re gonna buy me a Slurpee and some really good snacks. Then, afterwards, we’re gonna eat pie and talk about it. It’s totally a move that deserves talking about. I mean, it’s not as epic as Lord of the Rings or Star Wars or Dragon—” 

“Yeah, that’s enough, Miss Granger.” Dean snaps his fingers in front of Charlie’s nose. “Focus.” 

“But—” 

“Find Cas, or no Scarlett Johansson in tight leather!” Dean threatens. Charlie’s mouth snaps closed in a flash. “Good girl. Now figure out how to locate Cas for me.” 

**& black widow**

“It’s like I said, I guess: they won't exchange the gifts that you were meant to keep.” Charlie’s voice is mostly steady, and she’s only slurring a little (okay, she’s slurring a lot, but only because Dean keeps sneak-feeding her whiskey). 

“What d’you mean?” Dean’s voice is a lot steadier than hers, just like his walk (bastard, she wants to tell him, but keeps forgetting because Dean distracts her with pretty, shiny things and more booze). “Charlie?” 

“I mean,” she says. “I mean that you told me ‘bout what Cas did for you, right? And – Wait. You didn’t tell me, did you?” 

“Uh, no, I didn’t,” Dean agrees. 

“Huh. Well, anyway, what I mean was that you and Sam saved my ass, big time. Like, I’d be monster-chow if not for you guys— and why is Sam so tall, anyway? He totally dwarves you, and you’re already tall— Hey, what’re you doing?” Charlie complains, but Dean is stronger. He easily coaxes the bottle of JD from Charlie’s intoxicated fingers, then slips it down one of his way too big pockets. 

“I think you’ve had enough, darling.” 

Charlie is about to protest, but then she pauses. She’s warm, the world is a soft buzz around her and she has a craving for chocolate chip pancakes; yeah, she’s definitely had enough. “I’m not your darling, Dean,” she points out, very serious. “I’m your partner in crime. Totally different thing.” Then she grins. “I always wanted to be a partner in crime.” 

Dean drapes an arm around her shoulders and tugs her close. “Yeah, I know. You’re a pain in the ass, just like Sammy.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

Dean smirks. “Oh, yeah,” he murmurs. “Definitely good.” 

Charlie smiles. “Oh,” she says. 

“What?” 

“I remembered. I was gonna say that you guys gave me new shot at life, and that’s just huge. _Huge_ , Dean. Why’d I waste that? It’s the stuff that matters, right? You’re meant to keep your life ‘cause it’s the ultimate gift we have; why exchange it?” 

“Sappy,” Dean mutters, then he mock-groans when he sees Charlie’s grin. “This is detouring into chick-flicks, ain’t it? I don’t do—” 

“Oh, oh! Please, please can we watch Moulin Rouge? Kidman’s so dreamy in that one, and McGregor’s voice! God, that man can sing…” They’re back at the motel by then, Charlie walking in a straight line as long as Dean holds on to her. Dean scratches his chin, looking a little uncomfortable. “What?” 

“I was abducted by fairies,” he mutters. 

Charlie freezes up. Then she frowns. “For real?” 

Dean nods. “Evil flying little buggers.” He clears his throat. “With _nipples_ ,” he adds, sounding almost accusing, as if he’s affronted that fairies… Charlie mentally shakes her head; even drunk, she probably doesn’t want to go there. “Anyway,” Dean continues, a little awkward still. He goes red when Charlie starts giggling, though, because, _hello_ , fairies with nipples got one over badass Dean. “Hey! I didn’t laugh at you when you freaked out about the—” 

“That’s totally different,” Charlie argues. “Ants kill people! For real; I promise. They have this plan of total world domination by chewing all the houses to bits, and—” 

“There was one on your shoe, Charlie. It wasn’t gonna kill you.” 

“You don’t know that!” Charlie staggers inside the motel room after Dean, then collapses down in a seated position, more or less upright, next to him on one of the beds. “They’re devious little bastards. It’s because of the pincers, I think.” 

Dean blinks, then he digs out the bottle of whiskey and swallows a mouthful or two. “The pincers?” 

“Pincers.” Charlie puts her finger in front of her mouth and mimes the action. “Pincers,” she says again. “It’s why the Black Widow kicks ass.” 

“‘Cause she doesn’t have pincers?” 

“Exactly.” Charlie nods wisely, then sneakily steals the bottle from Dean and proceeds to get very, very drunk. 

**& black widow**

“Yes, I was drunk,” Charlie tells Dean first thing the next morning. “Very drunk. The sooner we can forget and move on, the better. For the record? I _hate_ the Caramelldansen, all right? We never mention it again, ever. Also? Epic hangover of doom, here.” Charlie taps her temple, wincing a little. 

Dean grumbles and rolls over in his bed. Charlie’s opened all the windows she can, because she’s a freak who likes fresh air and sunshine when she’s hungover (all of her girlfriends have complained about it more than once, usually loudly and epically). The thing is, she does some of her best, and craziest, work when she feels like shit and she always wakes up, like, three hours after she crashes just so that she can jump onto some project or other. 

Charlie walks across the room so she can better see Dean, before laying out what she’s been up to while Dean was sleeping off the booze they’d chugged down the night before. “I would like to inform you that while you were having happy, disturbing dreams, me and H figured out how to stalk your angel buddy across the world. I expect grovelling for this. And pancakes. Also, I want you to never, ever contact me again.” 

“I lifted a poster of Scarlett Johansson in the Black Widow get-up from the movies,” Dean mutters into his pillow. 

Charlie stands at attention, hands on her hips and nose aimed slightly up, like a dog scenting the air. “You will surrender it to me,” she demands. 

Dean chuckles. “You gotta find it first, girl.” 

Charlie narrows her eyes. “Are you declaring war, Dean Winchester?” 

“What if I am?” 

“I give you the program, show you how to use it, and you give me the poster. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Dean mutters. 

Charlie grins. “Sweet,” she whispers. Now all she needs is a job, a place of her own – _again_ – a new identity, and then that poster is so going up on her wall. Possibly above the bed. Maybe in a frame.


End file.
